fire inside still burns
by SparkleMouse
Summary: There was a coffee house on campus that had once been their sanctuary.


_So while I've written fanfiction before, I've never actually done it for The Good Wife so this is a bit new and different to me. I figured I would post this though and get my feet wet a bit before attempting to try more. I'd love to know what you think!_

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There was a coffee house on campus that had once been their sanctuary.

Mismatched crushed velvet chairs and French posters on the walls; the smell of burnt coffee past midnight and fresh pastries just shy of six in the morning. The tables were uneven; nothing to steady them but five-hundred page law books jammed under the leg. A thermostat that never quite hit above seventy. It was home more than their apartments though, more than the undergrad dorms that felt like another lifetime ago.

The late January snow would strand them at their table in the back, prepping for mock trials, debating until nothing made sense and all the terms that were ingrained into their brains became gibberish. It was where Will had sneaked in a bottle of vodka, pouring it into coffee mugs, because it was far too cold and there had been too much studying and too much insanity over and over and over again. Shots had turned into hysterical laughter and combined with dirty looks from the surrounding tables, she had buried her head in her hands, her foot brushing along his. Flirting.

And it was where he had first kissed her, frazzled and a little rushed. Yet it was somehow right and innocent with soft lips and a bit of confusion, feelings that had developed somewhere between a teasing_ Screw law school. If I started a band, would you be my groupie? _and a hopeful _Imagine what it would be like to have our names on the door of our own firm one day._ The initial kiss was quick but then it happened again; bruising that time, along the lines of perfect and then that was it. Never mentioned, except she saw how he looked at her after that, how maybe _maybe_ she could have this adorable, smart, funny but not entirely funny man if she wasn't so responsible. If she had the kind of adventures that Owen or her mother did; adventures that existed solely on spontaneity and without the fear of repercussions.

But she wasn't Owen or her mother and she chose wrong or possibly right at the time until CNBC had broken the news of her husband's affinity for hookers and she had been too goddamn scared to leave because of Zach and Grace and the feelings of loyalty she held for the father of her children. So instead she had an affair and fell in love (again) and walked away when she knew Will would always be her weak spot, when she knew saving them both was better than staying and longing and waiting for another kiss, another moment of passion, another moment of flawed beauty that seemed to sum up their entire relationship.

Now it's suddenly close to twenty years since the end of that Georgetown life and she stands here with her son (as he checks out the campus of a school that will always remind her of Will and cold nights and a life that in retrospect had been so much simpler) in the same coffee shop that somehow looks entirely different and exactly the same. Zach goes to grab a drink and she walks to that empty table in the back, the one that still wobbles as she touches the scarred surface gently. Her fingers trace the indentations and an entire lifetime flashes before her eyes.

Burnt coffee. Fresh pastries. Law books and mock trial prep. Vodka and first kisses. Elevators and a beige suit. The gentle caress of his hands and lunch hours filled with love and snacks and a desire she hadn't felt before in her entire life. _This is the happiest I've ever been _and the New York skyline. _Please don't end up hating me_ and _You were poison. _

_You're fired _and no real goodbyes.

There's an ache deep in her chest as she takes out her phone, scrolls until she finds his name. _Will Gardner. _The name that she hasn't called or texted in weeks. The name that had once been a moan on her lips; a plaque on the door like he, like _they _had always wanted.

She types out a message - not nearly enough, but all she can say in a place that holds their past - and hits send.

_I'm sorry._


End file.
